


The Rear-Ending of 1973

by theangelsarefalling



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, Bohemian Rhapsody - Fandom, Queen - Fandom
Genre: 70s, Band, F/M, Rock and Roll, Romance, Seventies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-29 20:26:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17814947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangelsarefalling/pseuds/theangelsarefalling
Summary: In which John Deacon can't find the brake of the van and ruins Landis Fraser's car. Roger thinks they did her a favour.





	1. Chapter 1

**** Things happened far too quickly for anyone to do anything about it, before Landis could even think of how this was not how she wanted her day to go. The tin box on wheels smashed into the back of her car with a sickening crunch and Landis screeched. She could  _ feel _ the damage the driver of that damn van did to her vehicle and she was parked and leaping out of it before she could blink. 

 

The driver of the tin box’s eyes were like dinner plates, his lips moving as he undoubtedly shouted at whomever else was in there with him. Landis slammed the door of her beloved car shut before turning to inspect what the rear-enders had done. Blood swished around in her head as the world swayed slightly and she blinked at the crumpled trunk. 

 

“You’ve got to be joking,” Landis breathed, eyeing the brown-haired, mullet-styled driver of the van as he jumped out onto the street. 

 

“I am so sorry,” he said immediately, revealing an English accent. “I couldn’t stop in time—”

 

“I was sitting stationary!” Landis snapped back. “Look what you did you my car!” 

 

“Are you alright?” The driver ignored her and pressed another question. 

 

“Oh, I’m braw,” Landis shouted sarcastically, advancing toward him so aggressively that the man flinched. A moment later, three other men popped out of the van. “I’ve only just been rear-ended by a Sassenach!” 

 

“Darling, darling,” one of the other men drawled, stepping forward. “We are terribly sorry, Deacy here has had barely any sleep.” 

 

“I don’t care!” Landis screeched back. “Look what you did to my car!” She barely stopped for breath or to notice anything about the other men. 

 

“At least let me introduce myself,” the second man said, approaching her with a stuck out hand. “Freddie Mercury.”

 

Landis narrowed her eyes, his pleasantries doing little to quell her fury. She stared at his hand before whipping her hair over her shoulder and shooting daggers at him. “Landis Fraser,” she growled. “Certainly not pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 

“My dear, we will pay for any damages John here caused,” Freddie said, smiling barely but showing off his exceptionally large teeth anyway. 

 

“Oh, aye, I’d hope so, because I’m definitely not,” Landis bared her teeth in a smile, her rage bubbling down slightly when she heard they would pay for her crumpled hood. 

 

She took a moment to survey the group, taking in their appearances. Freddie was dressed flamboyantly, the rest seeming closer to normal in comparison. The tallest of them had the biggest hair, a wild, curly beast atop his head, whilst the fourth man who hadn’t spoken, and was inspecting the damage on their van, had blonde hair that was long in the back and stuck up at the top in a way that reminded Landis of chicken feathers. They were dressed up, she realized, in an odd sort of way. 

 

“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” Chicken Feathers quipped, turning around with a smirk. “You car’s a piece of junk.”

 

Landis nearly lunged, but one of them leapt in front of her before her teeth got to his throat. 

 

“Let me ring your mechanic, Landis,” the driver, ‘Deacy’, as Freddie called him, offered calmly. “We’ll get this sorted out.”

 

“I was only joking,” Chicken Feathers scoffed to his friends, raising his hands in a mocking surrender. 

 

Landis rolled her eyes, huffed loudly and went back to her car, biting her lip at the sight of the smashed silver metal. It was going to cost a fortune to fix, a fortune she didn’t have. After rummaging through the glove compartment, she fished out her mechanic’s telephone number and returned to the band of hooligans that had ruined her day, shoving the paper into Deacy’s hand.

 

“You’d better fix this mess,” Landis hissed as he took it. “We’ll all be waiting right here until he arrives.” 

  
  


*

  
  


“Jesus Christ, John!” Roger yelped as the van came to an abrupt smash, rattling everyone inside. And their instruments. “What have you done?!”

 

“I couldn’t stop in time!” John shouted back, frantically putting the van in park as the rest of the band rushed to the front of the vehicle. 

 

“What did you hit?” Brian asked, albeit much more calmly than Roger. 

 

“Her--” John muttered as Roger peered through the windshield to see a seething woman leap out of her dinky car and advance to assess the damage. The hood of her trunk was a crumpled mess and when she saw it, her eyes lit with fury. Roger could feel the heat from where he stood. 

 

John raced out of the van, spitting apologies as quickly as his mouth would allow. 

 

Roger peered over the front of the van, inspecting their hood for damage, which he found they had little. The woman looked as though she would tear John limb from limb, and Freddie and Brian acknowledged it too, following John outside to try to prevent the loss of their bassist. Roger lagged behind a bit, gaze fixed on the front of their own vehicle. He loved that damn van, and if John wrecked it, he would have his head. Much like the woman in front of them appeared to feel, as well. 

 

From the curb, Roger took in the scrapes along their bumper, but it was nothing compared to what happened to the woman’s car. 

 

“My dear, we will pay for any damages John here caused,” Freddie told her placidly, failing to smooth over the woman’s disdain. 

 

“Oh, aye, I’d hope so, because I’m definitely not,” the woman snarled, her voice revealing that she hailed from deep in Scotland and possessed the fierce wrath of a Highlander. An admirable quality, he’d always thought. Roger smirked as their eyes met. 

 

She was tall, almost as tall as he was, eyes as bright as the green and blue tartan jacket she wore. Roger’s eyes fell to her outfit, specifically the white fishnet stockings that adorned her long legs. Despite the irritant that the situation presented, Roger failed to ignore that she was fiendishly attractive. There simply weren’t enough redheaded women in London. Most women dyed their hair repeatedly to attain the flames encapsulated in the tone of the woman in front of him. No attempted imitation came out as breathtakingly red. 

 

Roger glanced at her car again, noting how even before the accident it was looking a bit worse for wear. “I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” he drawled, knowing the rest of the band would skin him later for stirring the pot. “You car’s a piece of junk.”

 

That set the woman’s eyes ablaze, her body tensing the way Freddie’s cats did when they were about to pounce, her teeth bared and lip curled. 

 

John leapt in between them before the woman could sink her teeth into Roger. Not that he would’ve minded. 

 

“Let me ring your mechanic, Landis,” John said, holding a hand out in surrender. “We’ll get this sorted out.”

 

So her name was Landis. 

 

Brian stabbed Roger with figurative knives from his eyes for throwing gasoline on the already blazing dumpster fire. Freddie’s expression held a more neutral sentiment, but not a pleased one. 

 

“I was only joking,”  Roger scoffed his defence half-heartedly. He knew what he was doing when he said it, and he got exactly the result he’d hoped for. 

 

Landis let out a loud huff as she returned to her car, and Roger turned to John. “Did you really have to rear-end someone on the day of a gig? We’ve got shit to do today!” 

 

“Look,” John sighed, rubbing his brow. “I’m sorry. It’s really a much bigger inconvenience to her than us.” 

 

Roger shrugged. “We may have been doing her a favour.”

 

Brian shoved him. “We’ll never get out of here if you keep winding her up.” 

 

Roger grinned as Landis walked back to them, and said nothing more as she shoved a slip of paper into John’s hand. 

 

“You’d better fix this mess,” Landis growled. “We’ll all be waiting right here until he arrives.” 

 

“Excuse me,” Roger piped up, this time not entirely in control of his tongue as he responded. “We’ve got things to do today.” 

 

“Oh, piss off,” Landis snapped. “This is your fault, and I don’t plan on being the only one suffering over it. I can’t imagine you have anything better to do, anyway.” Landis’s eyes narrowed on Roger, and the grating look she gave him up and down had him clenching his teeth. 

 

“Are you joking?” Roger scoffed, raising his hand slightly. “Don’t you know who we are?” 

 

“Should I?” Landis said back, crossing her arms, muttering “ _ Sàmhach _ ,” barely loud enough for Roger to hear. 

 

“Well, that’s disappointing.” Roger could tell it was some other language, likely some insult, but he didn’t know what it meant. “And I have no idea what you said, dear.” 

 

The look she gave said one thing: _good_.

 

“Not everyone knows who Queen is, Rog,” Brian reasoned, turning to John as he spoke. 

 

“Can you make sure no one’s dead by the time I get back?” John asked, glaring at Roger before spinning around to undoubtedly search for a telephone. 

 

“Queen?” Landis repeated, glancing at Freddie and let her gaze rest there for a moment. “What, are you performers or something?” 

 

This time Brian scoffed, albeit much more quietly than Roger was tempted to. But that time he kept his mouth shut and went back to inspect the van. 

 

“We are, actually,” Brian replied. “Our band’s called Queen. I think what Roger is trying to say is we have a gig tonight that we mustn't be late for.” 

 

Landis crossed her arms and said nothing, staring at Roger staring at her car. 

 

“We really are terribly sorry, love,” Brian said, making Roger roll his eyes with his back to them. Brian never called women ‘love’. 

 

“We’ll make it up to you,” Freddie promised as Roger faced them again. “Why don’t you come to our concert tonight?” 

 

“You do realize I have no way of getting there,” Landis quipped. “You fucked up my car.” 

 

“Come with us in our van!” Freddie declared, and Roger’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “I can guarantee a _ferociously_ good time.” 

 

“Not bloody likely!”


	2. This One's For Landis

Chicken Feathers, or Roger, as the rest of the lads called him, was a complete pain in the arse. But Landis had more and more difficulty keeping the grin off her face as the afternoon progressed. Especially in the presence of Brian, Freddie and John.

 

When the tow truck came for her car, the entire band came with her, and they ended up seated in the mechanic’s storefront, twiddling their thumbs. John stood by the desk awaiting the quote for fixing her car while the rest of them discussed the set list. 

 

“Keep Yourself Alive, Fred, that’s the one we end on,” Brain insisted.

 

“Certainly not,” Freddie replied. “It must be Seven Seas, nothing else will do.” 

 

Brian rolled his eyes. “What do you think, Deacy?” 

 

“Why don’t we put it to a vote?”

 

“Why would we do that? This is obviously _not_ a democracy,” Freddie joking, rousing a true laugh from Landis. Roger glanced at her and laughed softly, too. 

 

“I vote Keep Yourself Alive,” John said, tapping his fingers on the counter. 

 

“Perfect,” Roger snorted. “I vote Seven Seas.” 

 

“Glorious,” Freddie declared, turning to Landis. “What say you, Landis?”

 

Landis cocked her head. “I haven’t a clue what these songs sound like, I don’t think I should have a say.” 

 

“I can go grab the demos,” Brian said, popping a thumb over his shoulder. 

 

“Actually,” Landis said, eyeing Roger, who stared at her right back, mischief in his light eyes. “I think I’ll go with Seven Seas. Sounds fascinating.” 

 

“It is quite,” Roger interjected, grinning at Landis. “Seven Seas it is.” 

 

*

 

When the mechanic came up with a quote, John wouldn’t let Landis see it, though she tried desperately. He gave it straight to Roger who frowned. That was when she realised she really didn’t want to see it, anyway. 

 

“I find it quite amusing that you’re the one stuck dealing with this because it’s your insurance, Roger,” John chuckled as his bandmate looked slightly distraught. 

 

“This isn’t even my fault,” he hissed softly. 

 

“You let me drive,” John reminded him, and Landis bit her lip as she grinned. 

 

“Never again,” he muttered as he rolled his eyes, speaking to the mechanic to arrange payment while Landis turned back to the rest of the band. 

 

“Will you come see us tonight?” Brian asked. 

 

“You simply must,” Freddie begged. “I promise you’ll love it.” 

 

Landis smirked. “If you drive me there and back.” 

 

“But of course,” Freddie replied. “Personal chauffeur service. Only the best for you.” 

 

With that, the band of ragamuffins and Landis retreated to the van, and Landis grinned at the paint scraped off their van, as well as a streak of paint from her car where they collided. The most bizarre part of the situation was how unbothered she now was. Her car was wrecked. Utterly wrecked. And yet there she was, climbing into the van that smashed her trunk to scraps, off to a concert with the men that ruined her day. 

 

How utterly bizarre. 

 

“I’m driving,” Roger said, snatching the keys out of John’s hand. The latter only shrugged, opening the sliding door for his friends. 

 

“Do you want shotgun, Landis?” John asked, also pulling that door open. She thought about it for a moment, but then remembered who was driving. 

 

“No, I’m alright,” she replied, climbing in behind the boys and sitting next to Brian and his ginormous hair. John took the front seat and Roger started the engine. 

 

The van smelled surprisingly good for a vehicle that housed four young men in their twenties along with all their equipment needed for concerts, events which were no doubt a sweaty affair. 

 

“So what do you do, Landis?” Brian asked, turning to the redhead. “I’ve just realised, we know basically nothing about you.” 

 

“Well, actually, I’m a dancer,” she said. “And I teach bairns to dance as well.” 

 

“Bairns, eh?” John joked, poking fun at her accent. “I haven’t heard that word in a time!” 

 

“Yes, yes,” Landis rolled her eyes. “Us Scots are _so_ entertaining.” 

 

“Will you be dancing for us at the show?” Freddie piped up, tossing her a simply mischievous look and a shit-eating grin. 

 

Landis laughed out loud. “I suppose you’ll have to see,” she teased, although having no plans of actually dancing at their show. Not to the best of her ability, at least. That was a luxury only a few were granted. “Depends on how good your music is.” At the words, Roger’s eyes snapped back to her through the rear-view mirror. A grin followed, a promise in his eyes. The words in the stare made her blush, but she quickly looked away. 

 

“Oh darling,” Freddie drawled. “I know a challenge when I hear one.”

 

*****

 

The venue was absolutely packed by the time Queen took to the stage. Landis had been swiftly introduced to Mary Austin, Freddie’s girlfriend upon arrival, who she spent time with when the band disappeared to their dressing room. 

 

“So John _actually_ wrecked your car?” Mary asked, tilting her head to the side. 

 

“Aye, it’s done in,” Landis confirmed. “But they’re having it fixed.”

 

“That’s kind of them,” Mary said, facing the stage and crossing her arms. She really was a most breathtaking woman, from her voice to the way she carried herself. Landis didn’t say anything as she contemplated how exactly she ended up at a Queen concert with what must have been at least two-hundred people. 

 

“I didna ken they were so popular. Do they do a lot of these?” Landis inquired.

 

“A fair few,” Mary said back, smiling slightly. “Right now they’re trying to sell their album; they’ll be playing all their songs from there tonight.” 

 

“Alright, time to see if all this chat is worth it.”

 

Mary laughed. “Would you like a drink?”

 

Landis smirked. “Always.” 

 

*

 

Shivers skittered down her spine when the lights dimmed and the boys prowled out onto the stage. They were all done up in metallic colours, Roger in a deep gold button up, Freddie in a shiny black vest and Brian and John in silver and white. 

 

Much to her distaste, it was Roger that she couldn’t take her eyes off of, not as he crept behind the drum kit and sat perched on the stool, his legs spread. Heat rose to her cheeks as he thumbed his drumsticks free and thumped one of the drums a couple times. He smirked out at the crowd as they cheered. Girls absolutely screamed. 

 

Landis looked at Brian as he slung his guitar over his shoulder, settled it against his body and prepared to play. 

 

“Hey, hey, hey!” Freddie cried out to the crowd. “Lovely to see everybody tonight!” 

 

The people around them had fallen silent save for some single whoops and claps. Freddie commanded attention when he held a microphone, that much Landis was sure of. 

 

“This one’s called ‘Keep Yourself Alive’,” Freddie announced, and with a few grounding beats from Roger, they were off. 

 

And Jesus, could they play. 

 

*

 

The night melted into the rhythm of drums, the metallic twangs of the bass and guitar, and the powerful, drawling vocals of Freddie Mercury. Sweat coated Landis’s body as she swayed to the music, Mary dancing beside her. Landis cheered at the top of her lungs as the song finished, and then Roger leaned into his microphone set up by his kit, his shirt almost completely unbuttoned, revealing the muscle of his chest. Landis tried not to notice the sweat making his neck gleam. 

 

“This next one’s a good one, it’s really loud. A personal favourite of mine. And I’d just like to say this one’s for our new friend Landis. She knows what I mean.”

 

Landis’s breath stopped in her throat as her name left Roger’s lips, a grin curling on them. Mary glanced at her and smiled too. 

 

Landis hadn’t danced that night, not really. It seemed that at least Roger noticed, and she blushed. She was going to make them work harder than that. 

 

“This is called The Seven Seas of Rhye!” Roger shouted into the mic, pushing it away before sitting back and holding his sticks ready. 

 

Landis could barely hear anything as Mary leaned over, sound exploding into the space. Mary definitely said something, but for the life of her, Landis didn’t catch it. 

 

“What?” 

 

“What’s going on there?” 

 

“No idea!” Landis shouted the lie back. She knew exactly what Roger was talking about. “But it seems like Roger Taylor just does what he wants.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking of changing the title of this story to "Tiny Dancer" and I hope that's okay. 
> 
> I want to keep writing this story but as of right now I have basically no plot. If anyone has any ideas, please let me know. I was thinking of making this book a bit sporadic instead of fleshing out every little detail of Roger and Landis's friendship/relationship, just to make it a bit easier for me to write. Again, feedback and ideas are greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Hope everyone has a swell day!
> 
> \- TAAF

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, everyone! This is my first A03 fic and I would love feedback, this is a new platform for me. Please let me know if you think I should continue this story!
> 
> Cheers,
> 
> -TAAF


End file.
